It's Wednesday, February 7th--do you know what day that makes it? Other than the 7th of February, you retards.
That's right; tonight is the premiere of the second third of the 3rd season of Lost on ABC. As much as it pains me to admit it, I really do enjoy watching the damn show and I can't hide that any longer. For me, it has it all. There's pretty scenery of mountains and oceans, mystery, scenes involving death of both primary and secondary characters(like they even had a chance), off-screen sexual encounters(my favorite kind!), hit pop songs (You all everybody is rock at it's finest), sweaty manboobs, peanut butter, and last but certainly not least, unanswered questions.
Questions like, why doesn't anybody ever complain about sand fleas? Why kind of other-worldly beach is it that doesn't have sand fleas, goddamnit? Fuck figuring out about the polar bears and odd magnetic field, I want to know where all the sand fleas have gone! And how can it be that Hugo hasn't lost any weight? Where does Sawyer recharge his beard trimmer? Lastly, how is it that Sawyer can have sex with both Ana Lucia and Kate without taking a machete to their unkempt jungle bush, you know, down there. Or is he letting them use his beard trimmer beforehand?
Even though it's gotten to the point where I don't care about Jack or Sawyer's backstory any longer, or who Kate is going to love, drug and then subsequently desert, I still look forward to watching it each and every week. Come to think of it, I wouldn't complain one bit if all the main characters died(except for Hugo. I love that fat man like a gay fat man loves another gay fat man, or something like that) in a highly illogical and unexplained way so the writers could bring in a whole new cast and call it Lost II, Electric Bugaloo--that would be tits. Unfortunately, for me at least, that's not going to happen.
What will happen, you ask? Ah, you're on your toes today, dear reader, because I'm here to tell you the likelihood of a number of Island happenings. Ready? I'll begin.
Ben and Jack, talking in Jack's cell
Ben: "Jack, you were on Oceanic Flight 815. It crashed. You're on an island."
Jack, looking perplexed, possibly constipated: "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
Did I miss any?
So, after I get done with work tonight, I'll be tuning to ABC at 9pm in hopes that some of the unanswered questions are, well, answered. Like why someone as hot as the Hobbit would fuck Evangeline Lilly.
'Cause she's naaaaasty.